Personal Devils
by Write4EVAandeva
Summary: Carol Marcus wasn't expecting to run into him, a tall, handsome and rude man with waving black hair. She wasn't expecting to ever see him again, yet the fates had tied them with a bleeding red string. When thrown into a relationship with him, she finds her heart compromised. Somehow, this cynical man has captured a part of her, and he won't let go. Rated T: violence and A:awesome
1. Chapter 1

Khan ran a lean pale hand through his waving black hair; in his other hand he held a drink, the glass now dripping with condensation. He placed it on the counter; carefully he studied the melting ice, a slowly dying creature, as it begged for its life again the raging heat of the Vodka. He waited a moment while the ice slowly depleted to nothing but a minimal lump at the bottom of his glass, drowning in the alcohol. Rolling his tongue over his lips, he picked it up and raised it to them. With a flick of his rise, the ice swirled around the bottom of the glass and made the vodka swish. Tipping his head back, the sharp liquid gurgled quickly down his throat as he finished it off and then set it down a little harder than planned.

The bar tender, a scruffy bull of a man, eyed him with suspicion. Kahn's or "John Harrison's" chuckle came out in a quiet hiss as he shook his head and slapped a tenner down on the counter. 'If that poor man only knew' he thought as he turned to leave. 'If he knew what I was capable of…he wouldn't be so quick to judge at a glance.' As his hand felt for the door knob, a smarmy smile spread like a rancid jelly over his features. His presumptuous demeanor faltered as stepping out of the door he ran promptly into a tall blonde woman, clothed in a simple blue dress with a tan overcoat tied at the waist. The unsuspecting woman, who was holding a hot coffee and balanced a portfolio over one arm, dropped both with a loud, brief shriek.

"John" moved to brush past the woman, rolling his eyes in distaste.

"Where the heck do you think you're going!?" she stood in indignation, chasing him with an angry glare.

He turned back to her, looking over his shoulder with an air of superiority, "Downtown…to my flat, and away from you." he turned away again. "Good day!" he called over his shoulder as he began to leave.

Before he was too far out of reach, she grasped him by the arm. Her grip was firmer than John expected and it stayed him for a moment, a moment just long enough for her to ask "You don't suppose an apology is appropriate in this situation, hmm?"

"Oh…yes. I am quite sorry," his voice dripped with sarcasm, "Truly, I am filled with remorse." He scoffed and pulled his arm free. The woman, the hem of her tan coat splashed with coffee, turned cross. Before she had the time to utter a word, John had sped off down the street leaving her with nothing but anger lingering on her lips.

She huffed in frustration, proceeding to pick up the mess he had made of her things. A couple feet down the sidewalk, her identification papers were strewn over the concrete. She hurried over them, snatching them up before people could step on them. _Carol Marcus, weapons specialist _stood out in big bold letters. She shoved them back into her folder, standing and straightening her clothes, she hailed a cab to south London.


	2. Chapter 2

Carol fiddled with her fork absent mindedly; the computer screen sitting in front of her glowed as if trying to regain her attention. Odds and ends of wires and small chunks of gleaming metal also vied for recognition without result. Rejected, they sat abandoned on a corner of her desk. The half-eaten English muffin spread with creamy tuna grew cold as the minutes passed with every tick of the clock. She breathed in as images of glossy, shadowy hair and a cynical smile overtook her thoughts, flashing up in the forefront of her mind like the glowing signs of posh shops in the evenings.

It was nearly 9:00 at night, and still she lingered over the man she had met that morning. She released a shaky breath and shook her head trying to clear the imaginings and return to her work. He was mocking and rude, and obviously not the sort she should associate with.

_ What type of individual resides in a bar at 7:00 in the morning? _she thought, trying to convince herself to forget him. It certainly didn't work. When she finally did scoop a bit of tuna onto her fork and attempted to place it in her mouth, she missed entirely, hitting herself in the cheek.

_ Unbelievable_, she admonished herself. With a frustrated huff she rose from her desk, and dashed to the ladies room to repute her dirtied face. She shoved open the door; marching over to the paper towel dispenser she snatched a few out of it, dampening the edges slightly, proceeding to scrub the tuna off her skin until it shined. Her hand flew to her purse. Her delicate fingers dug out a plastic makeup case and popped the stubborn zipper handle up with a fingernail. She opened the bag, digging out the mineral powder.

When her skin was once again coated in the smooth white dust, and her mascara touched up to perfection, she returned to her desk. Deciding to call it a day, she packed up the tuna dinner and placed it in the mini fridge beneath the desk counter. She rose from her seat, heels tapping softly over the carpeted floor. A tiny beam of light shone ominously from the doorway at the end of the room. She was the last one there; Carol had a tendency to work late. _Why rush? _she thought, _I don't have anyone to go home to. _

As she entered the elevator, again her thoughts rushed back to the man; hissing in irritation she shut them down. Couldn't she move on? It was an impossible notion, meeting him again. She would probably never even _see_ him, London was a huge city. She didn't know where he worked, or if he was married. . . .

She put a hand to her forehead. _Why would I even think to know that?_ Her thoughts came to a hiatus. She shook her head. _Snap out of it Carol! You don't know anything about him, not even his name . . . much less if he is married. _ As the elevator casually sank lower into the bowels of the building, she convinced herself to dismiss any recollection of earlier events.

The elevator lurched to a stop. Stepping out onto the hard concrete floor of the parking garage, she clicked her way over to her hover car, a sleek black machine with pinstripes of dusky gray. The engine roared to life when she struck and twisted the key into the ignition. Within a fraction of a second the roar slowed down to a gentle purr. The vortex fuel churned out beneath the hover pad that coated the ventral side of the machine. The gravity field altered beneath it, allowing the sleek machine to rise into the air. Carol's hair flipped about her face as she looked over her shoulder and backed out of the tiny parking spot. She put her foot to the pedal, turning round, and zoomed out of the garage and onto the busy night streets of the city.


End file.
